


Lessons

by tealeaves



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 01:25:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tealeaves/pseuds/tealeaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abigail likes to push her luck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons

She couldn't even remember how it started. Something stupid, probably, some tiny detail that didn't matter to her at all but drove Hannibal mad. He was like that, his attention to detail immaculate and surgically precise, a place for everything and everything in its place. She probably used the wrong knife while chopping tomatoes for dinner. 

Regardless of how it started, it became a _thing_ , an ongoing problem, and Abigail suspected that she'd finally driven him to cure her of it once and for all. 

She brandished the knife at him, her eyes glittering, laughing to show her defiance. "Put it down, Abigail," he'd said but it was still in her hand, the cool steel glinting in the light. "What's the big deal?" she'd asked, a slight note of taunting in her voice, a certain inflection that anyone other than Hannibal would have missed. 

"It's not a big deal," he shrugged, but she could sense the tension in his shoulders and arms, could almost taste it in the air. "So put it down and let's move on."

She shrugged her own shoulders in return, turned away from him and brought the gleaming blade down to cleave a cherry tomato in half. She popped half of it in her mouth, the juice bursting on her tongue, and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. A faint note of lemongrass from the cleaning products Hannibal liked, a fresh garden smell from the produce spread across the counter, a delicate scent of Hannibal's cologne, dark and sensual and masculine. Like his suits, his linens, his house, everything he surrounded himself with, meticulously curated; she imagined it would all have the same taste, of loam and musk and moss. 

"Abigail," he said; her name in his mouth sounded a warning. "Don't do anything you might regret."

She turned. The look in his eyes thrilled her, at once gentle and menacing, a glint of curiosity behind the black. She wondered if that was how he looked at his victims, if that quixotic expression was the last thing they saw before the darkness swallowed them whole. She imagined it might not be so bad. She licked the blade. 

A corner of his mouth quirked, ever so slightly. "Don't upset me, Abigail."

Her eyebrows shot up. 

_Don't bullshit a bullshitter_ , her father had once said, and it'd stuck with her. That's what she was doing now, they both knew - playing the player, testing her wings to see how far she could get. Evidently, only as far as Hannibal's tether allowed. 

He crossed the kitchen and she watched him, his movements slow and deliberate and graceful, predatory, like a great panther, a hunter. Just on the other side of the doorway, he settled into his customary chair at the head of the dining table. His eyes found hers, and he raised his eyebrows slightly, expectantly. 

Abigail had no idea how she was expected to cross the kitchen, the expanse of which suddenly seemed immeasurable, without collapsing. Her stomach seemed to have plummeted somewhere in the vicinity of her knees. She couldn't possibly move - not with those eyes on her. Still, her body moved by itself, as if controlled by invisible strings, a willing puppet in the circus of the damned. She went to him. 

She stopped inches away from him, knees almost touching, her arms at her sides, feeling boneless. She didn't think her legs could hold her but somehow she was still standing - that is, until Hannibal lifted his arms, placing his hands gently on her slim hips. She raised her own arms slightly, some instinct inspiring her to place her hands over his. His skin was cool, as was his expression, although Abigail thought she could read something dark in his eyes, a laughing desire. Then the gentle pressure on her hips, she moved into it, her eyes fluttering shut - a graceful, lightning-fast rush and she found herself in Hannibal's lap, straddling one of his knees, her own legs askew, his chest pressed against her back. She felt his heartbeat. It was steady. She also felt her own, hammering in her chest like a rabbit's heart, her pulse rushing in her ears like the ocean, a tide rising. 

Hannibal's hands were on her, one wrapped around her wrist, holding motionless the hand that still held the knife. The other was around her throat, her pulse playing under his fingertips; his grip was light and gentle but the promise of violence was there. 

Abigail flushed - with humiliation, with fear - and something deep inside of her unfurled, a flower blooming in the dark. He could kill her, snap her neck or bury that knife in her chest or tighten his fingers around her throat until she saw stars or a million more ways. She held still, and silent; his face was in the crook of her neck, she could feel the heat of his skin against hers, her pulse hammering against his cheek. He inhaled, once, deeply. 

She whimpered. 

Her grip on the knife weakened and he took it from her easily, reaching back to lay it on the table. His arm, once divested of the weapon, snaked around her waist to press her into him gently, a semblance of a hug. His hand released her throat, wrapping around her shoulders. She felt the sharp bones of his jaw, his chin on her collarbone. She wanted to scream, to bolt; she wanted to turn around, to face him. 

"Now," he said. The silence, which had seemed to last for hours but in truth was only minutes, shattered; the tension had subsided; Abigail relaxed, sinking into Hannibal's chest. The moment had passed. "Have you learned your lesson?" 

She nodded. She had. But there would be more, and she awaited them eagerly, with the bright-eyed excitement of a panther cub, already looking to the next lesson from its beautiful, deadly mentor.

**Author's Note:**

> This originated as spanking!kink, but the spanking never made it into the story. It may come into play at a later date... mostly I just wanted to explore the interaction and the power play between the two of them, and the UST so thick you could cut it with a knife (but make sure it's the right knife or Hannibal will be upset).


End file.
